


Family

by EASchechter



Series: Off the Main Sequence [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EASchechter/pseuds/EASchechter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's brother shows up unexpectedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't a long walk from Cadogan Place Gardens to the townhouse, especially in fine weather. It was just long enough for an excited, tired toddler to fall asleep on her father's shoulder.

"Honestly, I didn't think she could move that fast!" Martin said with a laugh. "She's only just started walking!"

"Why walk when you can run?" Livvy answered. "They will be disappointed, though. Her grandfathers coming for tea for her birthday, and the little guest of honor is going to be sacked out in her bed."

"They won't be by for an hour yet." Martin looked up and down the street, then crossed Lyall Street, starting down Eaton Square towards the house.

"She'll have a bit of a nap, at least," Livvy agreed. "And we'll have a bit of quiet... Martin, is that someone sitting on our steps?"

Martin looked, and stopped dead in his tracks. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Martin? Who is it?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's go walk... oh, no. He's seen us." Martin sighed and shook his head. "Right. If he's here, that means he wants something. So we have leverage."

"Martin, what are you talking about?" Livvy asked. "Should I call Papa?"

"You mean he doesn't know?" Martin asked weakly. "And... that's Simon."

"Your brother?" Livvy asked. "The one who--"

"Called you a whore. Yes."

Livvy's eyes narrowed, and she looked side-long up the street towards where the man was now standing. Then she smiled and took her mobile out of her pocket. She tapped something onto the screen, then put it away. "Well, shall we see what it is he wants, then?"

"Olivia Holmes-Crieff, you are up to something," Martin accused.

Livvy dimpled. "You know me so well. Do you mind?"

"No. It'll be a joy to watch."

Livvy smiled and kissed Martin on the lips. "Invite him in."

Martin studied his wife for a moment, then smiled and turned, starting back down the street. As they got closer to their own door, Martin stopped, cocked his head to one side, then called out, "Simon?"

The older man shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and forced a smile. "Yeah. Hi, Marty."

Martin heard Livvy's soft voice next to him, for his ears only, "Oh. Is that why you bit my head of when I called you Marty that one time?"

"Yes," Martin whispered back. Then he turned his attention back to Simon. "Have you been waiting long? If we'd known you were coming, we'd have stayed in."

"I... was in the area," Simon offered weakly. "Thought I'd... see how you were getting on."

Martin nodded, inwardly seething. Almost two years since they'd last spoken, and Simon thought this lame excuse was actually going to work?

Then again, two years ago, it just might have. Martin forced a smile and glanced at Livvy. "Well, come in, then. Would you open the door, dear? I can't reach my keys."

"Oh, of course. Would you take Vee up for her nap? If you give her to me, she'll wake up." Livvy said as she opened the door. Simon walked inside after her, and Martin followed, closing the door and trying not to laugh at the dumbfounded look on his brother's face.

"I'll take her up. Turn the monitor on in the study, and I'll meet you there?" Martin leaned down and kissed Livvy, then headed for the lift, wondering what shape Simon was going to be in when Livvy was done with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Livvy put the baby carrier into the closet and turned towards Simon, who was openly gaping at his surroundings. Apparently, the Crieff family had saved the brains up for their youngest son -- honestly, couldn't he have done a little research about what to expect? She dismissed what she already knew about him, and looked at him. His clothes were worn, trousers ragged at the hems, but neatly pressed regardless. His best pair, perhaps? They were a touch too large for him, too. His shoes were old as well, and the left was broken. His jacket was wearing at the elbows, and the zipper was broken. And there was a mark of a wedding ring on his hand, but he was wearing no rings, nor was there any sign of a watch. Her line of thought was interrupted by the appearance of the butler, Edmund.

"Just a moment, please," she said, excusing herself. She stepped into the dining room and closed the door part way once Edmund had followed her.

"Another guest for tea, Ma'am?" Edmund asked.

Livvy sniffed. "Hardly. That, Edmund, is Martin's brother. He is never to be allowed entry to this house again."

"I see. Very good, Ma'am. Perhaps I should... take out the trash?"

"Edmund, you're a dear. Thank you, but no. I'm going to see why he's here."

"Very good, Ma'am." Edmund bowed slightly and opened the door for her. She smiled as she walked back up to Simon.

"Would you care for a drink?" she offered. By the time she was done, he'd need one.

"Ah... yes. Yes, thank you," Simon managed. Livvy smiled and led him up the stairs. Instead of the more-formal study where she and Martin met with more formal associates, she opened the double doors to the drawing room. The family room, as Martin called it. This was the room where they could be themselves, where they could play with Violet, or watch television, or read.

"Come in and sit," she called over her shoulder, crossing the light, airy room to the bar set in the corner, turning on the baby monitor as she did. "What will you have?"

"Whiskey, if you have it," Simon answered. "Neat. Thank--"

Livvy turned and saw Simon standing in the doorway, looking around. She smiled and looked around, seeing what he saw. The obvious quality of the furniture and the appointments. The electronics in the entertainment center, and the books on the shelves. The toys on the floor and in the bins. The photographs on the wall --the wedding portrait, and another taken on their honeymoon in Paris. The photograph that her father had managed to have taken of Martin's knighting, and the one that some reporter had taken when Martin had participated in a charity bicycle race last spring. Their family portrait, taken when Violet was five months old. And her favorite, one that she herself had taken at the house in Sussex -- Martin sitting on the ground, relaxed and smiling.

Simon looked around at the photographs, and focused on one in particular. "That... is that you?"

A small surprise. Livvy hadn't expected him to pick out _that_ photo -- one of her, at age fourteen, at one of her last dance recitals. She wouldn't have displayed it at all, but Martin thought it was lovely, and insisted. "Yes."

"You a ballet dancer?"

"I was," Livvy admitted as she poured a whiskey for Simon, and two glasses of soda water for herself and Martin. "That photo was taken about a month before I was in a car accident." She picked up the glasses and started across the room, and was pleased when Simon jumped to take his glass from her. She didn't even have to emphasize her limp to get a reaction out of him. She'd expected some sort of reaction out of him -- she knew very well that Martin's mother had died in a car accident when he was seven. But that immediate a reaction out of Simon told her that thoughts of his mother were close to the surface. Perhaps even hint of guilt? Perhaps. One way to find out.

"I'm curious, Simon," she said as she sat down. "You weren't at the wedding."

"I.. ah... couldn't make it," Simon answered. He took a swallow of his drink, a line of crimson creeping up his throat.

Livvy nodded and looked towards the doors, hearing Martin coming down the stairs. He came into the room and crossed to Livvy's chair, leaning down and kissing her. She smiled up at him.

"I poured for you, Sir Darling. It's on the bar."

"Thank you," Martin said. "She didn't even budge when I put her down. She'll sleep until teatime."

"Good. So we can have a nice visit," Livvy leaned back.

Martin picked his glass up and came over to sit down next to Livvy. He glanced at her, then looked at his brother. "So, Simon. What's the occasion?"

"I saw you in the papers," Simon said. "The other day. You... you're looking good."

"Papers?" Martin looked puzzled. "Liv, were we in the papers again?"

"The gala for The Prince's Trust that Papa insisted we attend?" Livvy prompted.

"Oh, right! I didn't realize someone took a photograph." Martin nodded and looked back at Simon. "So, you saw us in the papers, and you decided to call on us after almost two years?"

Simon went red. "Ah... yeah."

"Why?" Martin asked.

Simon swallowed, took another sip of his drink, and was saved from having to answer by the sound of the doorbell. Martin glanced at Livvy, who smiled.

"Someone must be early," she said brightly.


	3. Chapter 3

 They heard the newcomer bounding up the stairs, which told Martin exactly who had arrived early. And to whom Livvy had sent a text. He glanced at his wife, who smiled at him before she rose to meet Sherlock as he came through the door.

"Uncle Lock!" she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, then laughed as he looked around the room expectantly. "She's napping. And no, you may not wake her up."

"She fell asleep on our way back from the park. She's running now, Sherlock," Martin added.

Sherlock looked delighted. "That's new!"

"The joys of a toddler. We are never, ever bored," Livvy said. She turned back towards the door. "Hi, Uncle John. Hi, Jim."

"Hello, Liv," Jim called as he and John came into the drawing room. "Oh. Visitor?"

"Yes. Everyone, this is Martin's brother, Simon."

The silence was suddenly deafening, and Martin wondered just what Livvy had told her uncles about Simon. About the reasons why his family had not been at the wedding. About the last conversation he'd had with his brother. He saw a flicker of anger pass across John's face, and a feral light in Jim's and had his answer. They all knew.

Sherlock, however, didn't frown. He smiled, and Martin found himself thinking of the Cheshire Cat. He coughed, more to keep himself from laughing.

"Simon, these are my wife's uncles. This is Doctor John Watson," Martin said. "Doctor Jim Moran. And I'm sure you've heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

Simon went white. "The... the detective? The one that's always in the papers?"

"Yes, that's right," Martin answered with a grin. "Sherlock, can I get you a drink? Anyone?"

"Tea would be lovely," John answered.

"Edmund will probably have it up shortly," Livvy said as she sat down next to Simon. "He knows you."

"He does," John agreed with a laugh. "Nice to finally meet you, Simon."

"Right. Thank you," Simon stammered. He forced a smile and looked at Martin. "Marty, can... can we talk? In private?"

"Oh? Is it something we can't talk about here?" Martin asked. He was pretty sure he knew why Simon had come. "I've got no secrets from the family, Simon. Go ahead. Is everything all right? Becky doing well?"

"Ah... yeah. Yeah, she's fine," Simon answered. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "See... the thing is... well--"

"Oh, do get to the point," Sherlock interrupted. "He wants money, Martin."

"Uncle Lock," Livvy chided gently. But she was smiling. "We knew that. But we were waiting for Simon to admit it."

"You knew?" Simon blurted.

"Don't be dull, Simon," Martin answered. "Of course we knew."

Sherlock smiled broadly. "Go ahead, Martin. Tell him. Let's see how much you've learned."

Martin nodded, looked at his brother. "Your jacket is five years old. I was with you when you bought it, remember? You broke the zip on it right before Dad died. Never replaced the zip, never replaced the jacket. Why? You've lost.... what, two stone since I saw you last? And you never had the extra weight to lose. None of us ever did. We all of us can eat like horses and never put on a kilo. So you're not eating." He paused, studying his brother, then blinked. "Dad's watch. And his ring. You're not wearing either. Oh, my God, Simon. You pawned them. How badly are you doing? It must be bad, if you're coming to me and expecting help. I expect I'm the last person you want to be indebted to. You'd sooner go to the Devil himself."

Silence, broken finally by Sherlock, who patted Martin on the shoulder and murmured, "Nicely done."

Martin nodded, but didn't look away from his brother. "Well?" he asked.

"Bad. Lost my job, about a year ago. And I... ah... bet a little. On the ponies, you know? I... I'm going to lose the house. Becky... she's taken the kids and gone to live with her mum. I owe... a lot. A whole lot. I've done... everything. Tried everything. Now..." he looked away.

"And you think I'm going to help you?" Martin asked quietly. "After everything you did, after everything you said? You think I'm going to forget?"

"I... I was hoping you'd... you'd be the bigger man..." Simon muttered. "I... I was wrong."

"Funny how you never thought that when you were the one on top," Livvy murmured. She rose and went to perch on the arm of Martin's chair. Martin looked up at her, then back at Simon.

"She's right. Ever since Mum died, you made my life a living hell. You and Dad, both. If you want anything from me, anything at all, then answer me this." Martin leaned forward. "Why?"

Simon licked his lips, then sighed and finished his whiskey. "You know about Mum, right? About the witchy stuff?"

"Yes, I know. What about it?" Martin asked. He deliberately didn't say anything about his own training.

"Well, there was something with her group. Her...what d'ye call it? Her coven. I dunno what. But they picked her for something. A hero something."

"A hero something?" Martin repeated.

"I don't remember what they called it. She said it was important. Special. Or it would be, anyway. Some kind of ritual. I don't know how she got Dad to go along with it."

" _Hiero_ _s_ _gamos_."

Martin turned when John spoke. "What?"

"Yeah, that was it!" Simon agreed. "What is it?"

John nodded, biting his lip. "It's... a sacred marriage. The Priestess is the vessel for the Goddess, and the Priest is the God. Most of the time it's symbolic."

"Yeah, only this time it wasn't," Simon muttered. "And then here comes Martin, nine months later."

"Of course. And he looks nothing like you, and I presume nothing like your father?" Sherlock asked.

"Not a damn thing. That wasn't proof, I know. He looks like Mum. But it still burned Dad something awful, to know that he's raising someone else's kid. Mum wouldn't let him do anything about it, but when she died... Look. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, all right?"

"You made my life a living hell," Martin repeated.

"And I'm sorry!" Simon insisted.

"What about the coven?" John asked. "Surely they--"

"Dad told them at the funeral not to come back. He didn't want anything to do with that nonsense."

"That nonsense saved all our lives two years ago," Jim said softly. Simon's eyes went wide.

"You're not!"

"I am," Martin answered. He looked at Simon for a moment, then slowly got out of his chair and walked over to the window. Without turning, he asked, "How much are you in debt? And who do you owe?"

"I..." Simon started, then coughed. "I can't tell you who. But... five thousand pounds."

"Five thousand?" Martin gasped, turned towards Simon. "And you think I'm just going to hand that to you?"

"You're fucking rich now!" Simon snapped, standing up. Martin watched as both John and Jim stiffened. "I've seen you in the papers, on the telly. I saw you after that charity race. Got something for everyone else, why not your family?"

Martin felt a chill pass over him, then nodded, once. "Gentlemen?" he said softly. "I'll handle this."

"You sure?" Jim asked. "I'd have no trouble--"

"Stand down, Jimmy," Livvy murmured.

Martin smiled and walked over to stand in front of Simon. "Let me explain something to you, Simon. You. Are. Not. My. Family. You made that very clear when you turned your back on me, after Dad died. And you hammered it home when you called my fiancee a whore--"

"He did what?" Sherlock interrupted.

"I didn't tell them that part, Martin," Livvy added.

"--and refused to come to my wedding," Martin continued. "You came here thinking you could cow me into doing whatever you wanted, just like before, because poor, worthless little Martin will do anything to try and get his brother to accept him. Well, guess what, Simon? I have a family now. And you're not welcome here."

When Martin turned, he felt a hand close around his arm and acted without thinking, turning and shoving hard with his magic. Simon went flying, knocking the chair over as he landed on the floor beyond it. He shook his head, then stared up at Martin, his mouth hanging open.

"You... you never even touched me!" he gasped.

Martin just glared, then turned away. "Sherlock? John? Will you please escort him out?"

"With pleasure," John answered.

Martin went back to the window, looking out, watching as Simon appeared on the pavement outside. He didn't shout, or make threats, or do anything to call attention to himself. He simply stalked off down the street. Martin watched until he disappeared, then sighed.

"That... explains a great deal," he said as he turned. "Explain the Great Rite, John?"

"It's the sacred marriage," John answered. "Traditionally, the woman was the embodiment of the Goddess, and the man was the candidate for the throne. Sex with the goddess meant that he was her husband, and that he had the right to rule."

Martin frowned. "All right. This is what happens when you learn witchcraft from a lesbian. I'd no idea. So... why? Why would they have done this ritual thirty-five years ago? Whose right to rule were they proving?"

"Is that the only reason they'd have done it, John?" Sherlock asked. He came around and sat down on the couch. "Why else would this... ritual have been performed?"

John frowned, moving over to sit next to Sherlock. Then he blinked. "The king must die."

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry. It's an archetype. The Sacred King. Every seven years, there is a sacred marriage. He rules, then the king is sacrificed for the good of the land. Every seven years."

"Thirty-five. Seven times five," Jim added.

"I can do math," Martin snapped. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means your real dad is John Barleycorn?" Jim offered. Livvy threw a cushion at him, and Martin grinned.

"Well, we might want to start looking at cold cases from thirty-five years ago," John suggested.

"Why?" Livvy asked.

"Why what?"

"Why cold cases? Why assume that Martin's father was the sacrifice?" Livvy came over and took Martin's arm. "Martin's mother died when he was seven."

"So... she was the sacrifice?" Martin asked. "Then... I need to talk to Cait. If she'll talk to me. She has Mum's journals. And her grimoire. Maybe I can find the rest of the coven and get some answers that way."

"We'll call her later," Livvy said. Martin put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

"One thing I don't understand," John said, leaning back. "This kind of ritual, it's hugely powerful. And always has a purpose. So what was the purpose of this one?"

Martin sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. No way to know, I suppose. Not without finding the rest of the coven. Which we're not doing today." He smiled and hugged Livvy to his side. "Now, that's enough of that. No more talking about it."

"Martin--?"

"No, I'm serious, Liv. Now we're going to have a birthday party, just for the family." He looked around the room and smiled. "Just family."


End file.
